The Second Sister
by TheRedPenofDoom87
Summary: Sequel to "Silver Tongue" After her sister's death, Emma Frost is set adrift; questioning everyone and everything she thought she knew. Despite her doubt, Emma will witness the birth of the X-men and watch their destinies unfold.
1. Mourning Period

**_Hello all! Here I come with the promised sequel to "Silver Tongue" staring Emma and the beginning of the X-Men._**

* * *

Chapter 1: Mourning Period

_"There is crime here that goes beyond denunciation. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that topples all our success." The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck._  
___**The morgue at Harrisburg Hospital, Pennsylvania, April 3 1979**_

* * *

I thought I could handle this. I thought I could be strong enough but my hands are shaking against my thighs and I've broken out into a cold sweat. I don't know if it's the hospital setting and that antiseptic smell or the fact that in about two seconds I'm going to see if my sister really is dead.

Part of me doesn't want to know. That part of me would love to go on and imagine that she and Logan got out of there all right, that they are waiting for me back in Canmore. And yet….I have to know, I have to know if she really did die all those weeks ago.

"Are you ready?" The coroner with thin metal frame glasses asks me. The photograph that will change my life lies face down on the cool metal table. His eyes are kind, sorrowful and empathetic. It's just another day for him, I suppose.

Don't let it be her, I pray. God, please don't…. "I'm ready." I reply on an exhale.

In an instant, he flips the Polaroid labeled "Jane Doe, March 29 1979. Estimated time of death: 8:45 am (?)" over.

I hold back a scream; The billowing black hair frames the hauntingly familiar face that is pale and waxy in death. She lies on a cold metal table, eyes closed as if she were only sleeping. But I can see the dead veins in her eyelids, temple and neck. They are blue against the shocking white of her skin. Her lips are deflated but there is a delicate smile puling at them. Just like Mom….

"Is she…?" Professor Xavier prods, hand on my shoulder. He wanted to come with me, I don't know why and at this moment, I am glad I'm not alone.

"Her name isn't Jane Doe…." I rasp. I can't tear my watering eyes away from photograph.

The coroner flips it over again, thankfully, and takes to his notes. "What was her full name?"

"Makayla Rose Silverfox." I manage to spit out and the first of the tears falls down my cheek. I don't do a thing to stop them; I don't want them to stop. Maybe if I scream loud enough, it'll fill this void gnawing at my insides.

"Do you have any idea who could have done this?" He asks, pen poised above the paper. "Boyfriend? Husband? Enemy?" His eyes narrow slightly in worry. He's seen the tear tracks in the low light.

"Not her boyfriend…." I shake my head. "He loved her too much….He never…" I can't find the words to explain to him. Hell, I'm even sure if I understand it. I saw the way Logan looked at her, like she was the only person in the whole wide world. "Not him." I sniff.

"Any enemies?" The coroner prods.

I shrug, feigning innocence. "I don't know…I haven't talked to her in three years." But I can see him, the devil man with the ice cold smile and dark blue eyes, the needles pushing against my skin, waking up to cold metal bars. He had to have done it. He had to.

"So, you have no idea who shot her?"

It steals the breath from my body. "She was shot?"

The coroner nods. "From what we can tell she was shot and bled out."

I don't want to hear this or know it or have to deal with it…I can hear my breath growing louder and louder as I hyperventilate.

Xavier places his cool hand on the back of my neck. To the coroner, Xavier is just a family friend offering comfort, what he doesn't know is that Xavier is the one controlling my mouth. I make all the answers available to Xavier and hide somewhere in the back of my mind where the low light isn't so harsh and no one can see my tears.

Finally, the coroner stands up to go. As he gathers his papers, he gives me a mournful look. "I really am sorry for your loss." I believe him actually. Maybe it isn't just another day for him.

But I don't have the capacity to thank him for his sincerity, I nod.

"Expect some results in a few weeks. Can you get mail at this New York address?"

Again, I nod as he leaves. When the door shuts behind him, it echoes with finality and it rings and rings and rings until I think I'll go crazy.

"Emma?" Xavier's voice is soft in the silence. "Emma, I can't imagine-"

"She's gone…" I hiss as my hands tighten into fists of rage and shame and a sadness that I can't find words for. I don't really think there are words for it. "She's gone….and I'm alone."

_**

* * *

**__**Xavier Mansion, Upstate New York, April 16, 1979**_

It's the sunlight that wakes me. That and the heavenly smell of coffee. It climbs the stairs and steals under my closed door. Wrapping its tentacles of flavor around my nose, it tempts me down stairs. I know it's a trick; the only way they can pry me out of my solitude. But if there's one thing my sister taught me it's that coffee is sacred.

I roll over to my side on the narrow window bed; I refuse to sleep in the one sitting in the dark corner of the room. I can see out the window and through the tree line, the beautiful cerulean morning sky. I close my eyes briefly, feeling the sun pouring down on me. It's too bright and it burns but I welcome it. I won't be without it again. But the coffee is relentless in its conquest and now it's filled the whole room.

Thinking of coffee makes me think of her and that chokes me a little. I want this all to be some crazy dream but the days pass and still I don't wake up. Nothing has changed; the world is spinning on with no regard to anyone else. The run rises and sets. Hours flit and minutes flicker. Shadows stretch and shrink. I'm eating up this time but going nowhere.

Below me, the mansion is alive with noise; cheerful yells, rampaging footsteps and games of make-believe. A part of me smiles, glad to know they are putting that part of their life behind them, finding solace with others of their own kind and all right with who they are. But another part of me knows that the cat is out of the bag now. It's just a matter of time before the real trouble starts.

I'm not as stupid as I was before, thinking that we can all just get along. Not in a world where a father hates his son for what he can do, who he is. Not in a world where mothers die and leave sisters to fend for themselves. Not in a world where sisters abandon each other when they need each other most. There is something horribly wrong with us. Something that needs to be fixed.

The coffee is demanding now and I can't ignore its siren calls. I find the energy to rise, despite the part of me that pleads to stay and revel in the sunshine. I pull on some clean clothes and go down into the kitchen.

It's quite possibly my favorite room in the mansion. The wide marble counters and gleaming silver fixtures are simple but elegant. They just beg to be used and admired. My fingers itch to test out the stove, fry and sauté, fill it with the smell of cinnamon rolls. And yet….I can't bring myself to do it.

The Professor, Scott and Hank McCoy are waiting for me at the kitchen table, as I knew they would be. I congratulate myself when I don't jump too much at the sudden sight of Hank. It's not that I don't like him or that he's frightening, he's very friendly; it's just that the blue is still a bit of a shock.

"So good of you to join us, Emma." The Professor intones in his lovely voice as I cross the kitchen.

"I could smell the coffee," I rasp, my voice returning after a few weeks of not speaking in full conversations. I grab a plain ceramic mug and pour the perfectly brewed coffee into it, not looking at the tribunal at the table.

"I wonder if you might sit, I'd like to ask you something." He pulls a chair from the table for me.

I sit, staring at my coffee as the steam swirls up into my face. Across from me, Scott fiddles with the new rose quartz glasses Eric made for him the other day. Now, Scott's able to control ….whatever it is he can do. He gives me a crooked smile as if to say: _This is gonna knock your socks off_.

Somehow, I really doubt it.

"Emma," The Professor clears his throat and I glance up. "How would you like to stay here?"

"What do you mean?" I ask slowly, carefully.

"Eric and I have been talking lately about what to do…" he glances around to see the storm of mutant children and half-children running amuck in the rather expansive backyard, some of them free from Stryker's kennels and some picked up by Eric and the Professor themselves. "About them….Some of their families showed no interest in taking back a mutant child…"

"Where will they go?" I murmur into my coffee, really not concerned. They aren't related to me nor do I have any kind of claim on them. It's the last thing I need.

"That's where Scott suggested the idea of a school," the Professor beams at Scott as if he is the prodigal son. "….a haven for the mutants who have been turned out by their families. A place where they could learn in safety."

"Who would ever do that?" I wonder.

"Us." Hank smiles so wide, I can see his canines gleaming against his blue fur.

I glanced between Hank and the Professor. "You're crazy," I breathe. "You're both gone stark raving mad."

"What are we supposed to do?" Hank retorts. "Turn them out on the streets where they can be taken advantage of? Hurt? Killed even? Because of what they are?"

I shrug. "Why are you asking me? What do I have to do with any of this?"

"If we're going to attempt this," the Professor lets out a deep breath. "We need all the help we can get. We need you Emma."

I don't want to be needed. I don't even want to be friends or even acquaintances. I just need time to figure out my next move and get going. I only stare at my coffee when the swarm of children come racing into the kitchen.

I hear the Professor talking about Muir Island and a doctor friend he has there. Hank counters with a snort about numbers or something. Scott points outside to the backyard, his mouth moves but I can't hear anything they're saying. It doesn't matter.

I lace my fingers around the hot ceramic and take a deep breath, suddenly all the sound, the yells, laughter, talking…all of it is gone. The steam warms my chin and I close my eyes, imagining that I am in Canmore and that all of this is more than a horrible dream. Kayla could be behind me, her hand soft on my hair as the sun comes up. But when I open my eyes, I am back in New York and alone, even in this too crowded kitchen.

I catch Ororo, the tiny twelve year old ring leader, staring at me in confusion. Her huge blue eyes are solemn beneath her white tufts of hair that lay against her forehead like feathers. She can't put what she wants to say into this new language she struggles with, but I can tell she wants to say something and….I find I don't want her to; I don't want any of this.

Thankfully, Eric and the new girl, Jean, come into the kitchen and thoroughly distract everyone else as I slip outside to the patio for some air. Its funny how things change…I used to be the life of the party, the go to girl for a good time. Now, a room full of kids is enough to make me want to climb the walls. I wasn't in the kennels as long as some of them; but the thought of confined places still make me twitchy. I breathe in free air and exhale coffee breath.

The patio door opens and closes quietly but I don't turn around. "Too crowded?" says a voice I don't expect. It's Scott, not the Professor.

I shrug and take another sip, keeping my eyes on the blue horizon.

"I've decided to stay," he says matter-of-factly.

"Why?" I look over at him finally. He's lanky at sixteen and a half, with longish brown hair and a face he hasn't grown into yet. "Because we're all freaks and we need to stick together?"

"I don't think I'm a freak…" he replies quietly.

I chuckle a little at him. "Says the boy who shoots laser beams from his eyes."

He mirrors me and leans down on the porch railing, ignoring my last comment. "I think it's a gift…"

"Yeah well," I stare hard at my coffee as if it can give me some kind of reprieve. "Your gift didn't kill your sister, did it?"

"Emma…." Scott, trying to be more grown up than he is, places his hand on my shoulder before I shrug it away. "You didn't-"

"No," I'm sick of their sympathy. It won't bring Kayla back. "No, I didn't pull the trigger but I might as well have."

"But…"

"You don't understand….I need to get away from all this. It's too much." I start for the door because the patio has gotten too crowded.

"I know you think I'm just a stupid kid…." I stop short and glance back at him. Scott shrugs his narrow shoulders. "But what else do you have?" He waits for me to say something but I can't find the words to contradict him. Scott leaves me to think it over.

As I watch his back recede, I suddenly realize that it's a terrible thing to do the leaving, but even more terrible to be left.

* * *

**_Jeez, you guys have no idea how hard that morgue scene was for me. These characters have entered my brain and taken over. I hated seeing Kayla like that but Emma had to, Emma had to be sure she was dead.....let me know what you guys think!_**


	2. Signs and Promises

_**Sorry about the late update, school's been crazy lately. I hope you guys enjoy!**_

* * *

Chapter 2: Signs and Promises

"_**It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.**__**"**__**J. K. Rowling**__**, **__**Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone**_

In the end, Scott's right. I don't have any place to go, anyone to go to. I can't go anywhere without passport or visa and without a degree for that matter. And it's not that I don't appreciate what the Professor's doing for me, it's just that no matter how many kids I help how many drawings I make, pictures I take, nothing will ever bring my sister back to me. Not even the all-seeing Professor can seem to understand this.

"What were you studying at school?" the Professor asks the next day in his office. He caught me just as I was about to sneak off to the garden.

"Art. Drawing, some photography," I reply. "Nothing useful, considering I dropped out without finishing."

He leans forward, pressing his hand against his mouth. "Personally, I've always found art to be very educational. It tells a great deal about both the artist and the true nature of humanity."

"Well, I'm not exactly human, am I?" I retort.

"Is that what you really believe?" he wonders aloud.

"You tell me…" I challenge.

"Emma," he sighs with the impatience of a question asked far too many times. "You should know that I don't try not to read other peoples' minds unless asked."

I nod.

"I know you're taking your sister's death hard and it's understandable with no other family to turn to, but," he smiles. "Know that this is a place of safety and acceptance. You've among friends here."

But I know that having friends is a two way street and I honestly don't know it it's possible to do what it takes to keep them.

"I'll give you a few days to think it over…." He offers and I take it. I get up and make it to the door when I hear him say: "She loved you very much Emma. And didn't leave lightly."

I grip the door for support. "She…?"

He nods gravely. "She was so worried that you'd be alone after…I promised that you'd be taken care of…"

I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"I always keep my promises, Emma."

There's a lump the size of a pair of rolled up socks in my throat. I can only give him a small smile and close the door behind me.

I take the couple of days and explore every option. I hardly stay in one place for more than a few minutes; I explore every niche and learn the layout like the back of my hand. I could see myself here, like a ghost me walking just a few feet in front of me, laughing and enjoying herself.

But beside my ghost-self who does all the things I can't (or won't), I knew I couldn't keep the art student self suppressed for very much longer. I find myself making little doodles of everyone. I draw Hank at the breakfast table before he's had his coffee. I draw Scott as he struggles with the Professor's daily dose of physics. I draw Oro when she's fast asleep in the late afternoon sun.

I never show them to anyone, I squirrel them away in my pockets and then into my desk drawer. None of them are formal or even on a respectable piece of paper. Half are on napkins, bits of ruled paper, done in marker or crayon. But once I've put them in the drawer, I don't look at them again. They wait in the dark. For what, I'm not entirely sure.

I've found the greatest sketching spot too, a little alcove off the main upstairs hall way near my bedroom. It has a huge bay window and seat where I can curl up for hours. No one bother-

"Who be that?" Ororo wonders, pointing to the sketch in my hand.

I flip it over to hide the subject and turn slightly. "Jeez, Oro!" I yelp. "I thought I told you not to sneak up on me!"

She cocks her head to one side. "Who that be?" Oro's an insistent little bugger.

"No one," I mumble.

"Who?" Oro puts her hands on her hips like she's seen Jean do. I can't help but chuckle; she's such a strange creature, so alien sometimes. It's not really surprising, what with her growing up on her own in Cairo. Her English improves every day, with constant lessons with the professor, but she still sings songs in Swahili and Farsi. Sometimes, she's off in her own little world.

"Oro?" Eric's calling her. "Oro? There you are," he catches the small girl by the shoulders. "Charles is looking for you."

"Okay! I be seeing you!" She calls her new favorite phrase over her shoulder as she disappears from view.

"I don't suppose you'll show me?" He glances over to the face down sketch.

"They're doodles, nothing special," I tell him.

"Nonsense," Eric smiles. "I assure you any of your 'doodles'," he air-quotes "are masterpieces compared to anything I draw." Something about the combination of his smile and his voice, which is compelling, makes my hand reach over and hand him the sketch.

"My, my…" Eric murmurs as he flips it over, taking in my sister's half finished beauty. Every night this week, I've had the most horrible nightmares starring Kayla's corpse. I've been trying to remember how she looked in life. That's the Kayla I want to see when I close my eyes, not the Jane Doe empty shell on the coroner's metal table. "She was beautiful," Eric compliments as he hands it back to me. "Simply stunning."

"She was," I breathe. "She was a teacher, you know."

"She was, was she?" Eric leans back against the window. "We could have used a teacher." He glances at me. "Would she have helped?"

I nod slowly. "She was a mutant, too. She could influence people when she touched them."

"A useful gift," Eric muses.

"She hated to use it," I reply. "She was always worried that people only loved her because she told them to, not because they really did."  
"The curse of those with silver tongues," Eric grins. "I think she and Charles would have gotten on famously."

I agree and suddenly the light is just right. "Don't move," I caution him and begin a new sketch on another sheet of paper.

Everything is fine until I get to his left arm and the tiny number tattoos wink at me, daring me. "Do…"

"Yes?" He prompts.

"Do you want me to include…..those?" I point with my pencil at them.

Eric looks down at his arm, a shadow passing over his features for a moment. "They're a part of who I am now." He looks me in the eye. "I t can't be forgotten. I can't."

"Do you hate them?" I wonder as I go back to sketching. "The ones who did it, I mean…"

"They say that: 'To err is human, to forgive divine'." He quotes.

"I didn't ask if you forgave them…I asked if you hated them…"

There's a grim smile playing on his features that I need to capture. "I think it's a perfectly natural response."

"Does it ever go away?" I wonder aloud. "Does it ever stop or let you think about anything else?"

"If you let it." Eric reasons. "You can let it go, forgive and forget or" he chuckles a little. "you can hold on to it and let it turn into a bitter old man."

"I don't think hate, however strong, will ever turn me into a man," I grimace as I finish.

"Nor do I." Eric laughs. "May I see it?"

I hand this one to him.

"Emma…" he grins. "This is extraordinary."

"It's a doodle," I insist.

"It's…." He shakes his head, lost for words. Eric lifts his eyes from the page and looks straight at me. "This is a gift, Emma. A gift that is meant to be shared."

"It's not that good. I can think of five other people from University who were better than me." I insist.

"But can they do this?" He points. "Capture someone's essence in nothing more than paper and pencil? My dear, I think you have found your place."

The finality in Eric's voice saps it of its warmth and sends a shiver down my spine. "I should go," I whisper. "Thanks for the advice," I get up and leave Eric sitting on the window seat.

"You won't find any place better. I can promise you that." He tells me as I slip into my room. As soon as I shut the door I lean back against it feeling those bars closing in on me again. Still the question remains, can I stand to stay?

I need advice, I need Kayla….I sit by the window, waiting. For the first few days, nothing happens. And then on the morning of the third day of waiting; a small grey fox emerges from the bushes.

It sniffs at the dew drenched grass a few times and glances around warily before it stops directly beneath my window. It sits, curling its fluffy tail around its paws and looks up at me. It seems that the choice is made.

* * *

**_So....what do you guys think? I wouldn't expect another chapter update until late next week. It's a nutty time for me._**


	3. Patterns and Suprises

**_I'm so sorry about the late updates....school is really crazy right now....but I'm super excited about this chapter and I think you guys will love it as well._**

**_Disclaimer: I own nothing_**

* * *

Chapter 3: Patterns and Surprises

_**"Art begins with resistance - at the point where resistance is overcome. No human masterpiece has ever been created without great labor."~ **__**Andre Gide**_

My life settles into a comfortable pattern again; both a relief and a curse. With a full schedule, I no longer have the luxury to dwell on my loss constantly. I can go hours without thinking about her but it's because I have a million other things to do now.

Of course, therein lies the curse. I have a million things to do. I wake up; have silent coffee and breakfast with Eric, who isn't a morning person either. We wordlessly exchange sections of the newspaper until the kids start streaming in, their bowls and spoons clanging noisily in the carefully constructed silence, their cereal and milk spilling everywhere.

When the din in the kitchen gets to be too much, I slip away to the ballroom that the Professor gave me for my studio. Not only do I get a studio out of our deal, but students as well. The Professor and I have broken the children up into two groups; those younger than twelve and those older. There are only about five younger than twelve and I just let them color whatever they want. Some of them are too traumatized from the kennels to pay much attention to me, much less actually take it in and use it. The Professor keeps a close eye on these drawings, hoping that this "art therapy" as he calls it, will help them heal.

I save the hard stuff for the older students. Remembering my high school art days, I find old multicolored bottles, to teach my students about light, oddly shaped fruit to teach them about shadow, and semi-unwilling victims to show facial structure. As much as she loves to jump around, Oro, however, loves to be the model. It surprises me how still she can stay when she needs to be.

But there are odd moments in the day, a quiet drawing session, the early morning coffee with Eric, when my attention slips back to thinking about Kayla and I have the urge to look though old pictures that I don't have, to smile when I think of our Chinese nights with Paul McCartney to serenade us as we ate. I wish more than ever that she were here to see what my life has become and I wonder how her life would have been if she lived.

"What do you think, Emma?" Scott produces a portrait of what looks like lumpy toadstools floating in space, snapping me out of my day dream.

I hold back a giggle as I step off my stool and lean against the back of his chair. "Is that what you see?"

His eyebrows draw together over his rose colored glasses. "I drew the stupid fruit, didn't I?"

Jean, who sits to his left, giggles at this. Scott immediately looks over and smiles. She goes back to her drawing with a small, shy smile, her red hair hanging like a curtain between them. Even that doesn't deter Scott from continuously staring at her. Oh, for Pete's sake…

"Look at the shape of everything," I instruct, plucking the pencil from his limp hand.

"They're all circle." He insists.

"No…" I point. "Look and see what's really there." I wait as Scott squints.

A moment later, he only shrugs.

"Okay. Let's start with the pear…" I look up briefly then back down to the page and start to sketch out the circles within the pear's shape. "See…it's rounded but not just two circles, there's an oval at the top too, isn't there?"

Scott stares at me like I'm an idiot. "I guess so…"

"And then grapes aren't circles at all, they're oblong…and the apple from this angle, looks like one and a half oblong shapes." I finish sketching. "Go ahead; draw the shapes. Worry about shadowing later."

Scott grumbles about "stupid fruit" until the lesson is over at the end of the hour. They pack up and Scott tries to make witty small talk with Jean about the homework that Eric assigned them as they walk out the door. He fails miserably and still he keeps trying to impress her. I laugh quietly to myself as even Oro rolls her huge blue eyes at them and casts me a look that seems to say: "Not again…"

With the room now empty even the vaulted ceilings of the ballroom make it hard for me to breathe. I don't have any more classes today and so I clean up; sweeping the floor and locking all the cabinets, counting to be sure all the easels are here, all of (well most of) the colored pencils are here as well. When I'm done, I look back into what is supposed to be mine. But it isn't and I'm not sure how to make it so. Instead of worrying about it, I slip out and away from the mansion, heading for fresh air.

The garden is a sigh of relief as I stroll. To my left is a huge flowering magnolia plant. Instantly, I've gone back nearly six years to a time when everything was simple and hope was real. I pluck the fattest bloom and tuck it behind my ear. I remember, Kayla. I will always remember.

"Hey! Watch where you're walking!" A hostile voice warns from a small bunch of potted apple trees.

I can't help but react. For a moment, I can't feel the spring sun on my skin, the breeze against my hair. For an instant, I'm invincible and all the world can see it shimmering in the sun. And now I don't have Kayla here to make him forget or make him not tell what he's seen…

I yank it back when I realize this isn't an attack. A young man emerges from the copse of trees, a landscaper's logo on his shirt. I watch him pulling off a pair of thick gardener's gloves and tuck them into his back pocket before he runs his hand through his dark hair. He's at least six and a half feet tall….he even towers over me; I take a cautionary step back.

"Sorry," he's rubbing his dark grayish blue eyes eyes…oh God, oh God…no, he can't know… "I didn't mean to scare you."

I shake my head, feeling a stupid blush creep across my face. "No…I didn't think anyone else was here."

"Yeah, well, you were about to walk into one of the holes I dug for the trees." He points to a hole probably three feet deep and two feet wide. "You would have broken your ankle for sure."

"Thanks….I guess," I shrug.

"You're welcome…I guess." His smile is infectious, I realize after a second or two. "I'm David," he holds out a hand that I won't take. "David Starling."

"Emma…Frost."

He gives me a strange, confused glance and pulls his hand back. "So…you're not the usual age for someone to be admitted to the Institute. Most of them are about twelve or so."

"I'm the new art teacher…." It's sort of the truth.

"I see."

"And what do you do?"

"This…" He holds out his arms to summarize.

"So, you're the gardener?" I wonder.

"I prefer the term 'Landscaper'…it's much less-"

"Gay?" I insert.

He puts his hand over his heart in a gesture of wounded pride. "Ouch….that hurts."

"Sorry," I shrug. "I call them like I see them."

"Fair enough," Suddenly, a look of surprise crosses his face. He puts a finger up to his lips to indicate silence and points over my shoulder. "Look…"

I turn, slowly and there under the garden fence is a small grey fox, possibly the same one I saw a few days ago. It sits on its hind legs, busy tail wrapping around it's paws, it's small sharp eyes follow us. One of its huge ears flicks to the right and in the blink of an eye is gone just as quickly as its come.

"That's so weird…" David mutters. "You hardly ever see them in the daylight."

"I…" I stammer.

"Whoa," David narrows his eyes at me. "Are you okay? You look like you'd seen a ghost…"

"I should let you get back to work." I whisper and turn to go, letting the shadow of the past stay in the garden. As I run like a coward, I can hear a few heavy footsteps as he jumps up and follows me to the path, but I don't look back.

* * *

Later that night, as I lay wide awake beneath a moonless sky, I suddenly get the urge to draw. So I grab a sheet of paper, pencil and the magnolia blossom and head downstairs.

The kitchen is quiet and cool as I sit at the wide open table and begin to draw. Soon the familiar sounds of pencil on paper relax me enough that I yawn a few times. But just as I'm about to leave, I hear voices arguing. For a moment, I freeze as the voices grow frustrated and angry.

"…Eric, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, it will not be used as a weapon!" the Professor mutters.

"But think of what we can do Charles, you and I and the children…" Eric reasons. "Especially if we strike first."

"That is not what this Institute is for. We decided together that knowledge was the best way to fight ignorance…we must show them through peace."

"Peace?" Eric laughs bitterly. "Peace? They will never let us have peace until they've killed every last one of us."

There is a pause, a beat of time.

"Give it a chance, Eric." The professor reasons. "Give this place a chance, give them a chance, you never know, they might surprise you."

I can hear Eric swallow hard and then all I hear are footsteps. Then suddenly the door to the kitchen opens and the Professor comes in. "How much did you hear?" He wonders, suddenly looking more tired than I'd ever seen him.

I shrug. "Just the last two or three minutes."

The Professor sighs and plops down across from me.

"He's really freaked out," I whisper. "Isn't he?"

He nods. "Eric is worried that if we were to be discovered, the government may take it as a threat and try to destroy us."

"But we…aren't doing anything wrong…" I insist.

"I know that, Emma…" the professor smiles. "And you know that but…Eric has a valid point; so many mutants in one place and people know so little about us about our powers. People almost always fear what they can't or don't understand. Eric knows this better than most."

"It's because he's Jewish, isn't he?" I remember that numbers on his arm, the bitter talk we had. "And the Holocaust."

Again, the Professor nods. "Eric lost his parents and found out about his powers all in one day. He knows, probably than anyone, the consequences of being different."

I agree playing with the magnolia blossom on the table. "It…isn't easy… but it's nice to be here instead of…there…" I shudder at the memories of that place.

"How is it you were on Three Mile Island? If you don't mind my asking…" He adds as I feel my expression change.

I breathe in. I knew this would come up eventually. "I met a boy in college. He was beautiful and smart…and sweet and a mutant like us…" I sigh, thinking of Jamie's smile and the way his hand fit around my waist. "I fell hard and let myself be convinced to drop out of school, stop talking to my sister…"I swallow. "There are things that I'm not proud of."

"I see…he took you to Three Mile?"

I nod, letting day play itself over and over again in my mind. "…Said it was part of a job. He hands me off to Victory and splits. I haven't seen him since."

"What was his name?"

"Jamie Madrox…'Multiple Man' he called himself. He called me 'Pearl'." I smile at the memory of his amazement when I finally showed him what I could do. His eyes grew wide and he touched my cheek with a hand I couldn't feel. "…like mother-of-pearl…" he whispered.

"How is it your sister got there?"

I shake my head. "I don't know….I was there a few weeks before it happened. One early morning, I heard alarms going off and my sister scream and windows crashing and then I saw was Logan running down the aisles, slicing the locks with these huge metal claws…And Kayla was behind him…"

I remember her ordering me to go on, that she had to stay. Vaguely I remember the dark halls and dripping pipes and then I remember running out into the sunshine and free air. There was the Professor waiting for us. But what I can't put together is when the Professor told me that my sister wouldn't be coming. Was it after Eric lifted the helicopter into the sky? Or after? Because I can recall that I fell to my knees and screaming and crying to go back…we couldn't leave without her…I had to save her and then the professor knelt down next to me and placed his hand on my temple…then black.

"You told me," I whisper finally. "That you spoke to her…before she…?"

"I did," the Professor replies. "If you'll lean forward." He holds out his hands skull length apart. "I can show you."

Carefully, I lean forward over the table and close my eyes.

In an instant, I'm bombarded by images of us; me as a tiny grieving ten year old after our mother died. "Tell her I will always love her." Her and I laughing and singing to the Beatles in our kitchen. "Always have." Me crying into her shoulder about something. "Always will." Me painting in my room, me wiping the dirt and grease from my hands, and then her checking me to make sure I was alright when she and Logan busted me out of the kennels. "Nothing will ever change that…" For a moment, I'm over come with the love and had…has for me, and the knowledge that she wouldn't get of this alive….she knew….and she had to be sure that I lived…

The images quit suddenly and I fall back into my seat, the void in my chest screaming for more, more, more….the tears leak and I can't seem to catch my breath for a moment.

"Emma?" the Professor prods gently. "Emma? I know it was a lot to take in at one time…are you alright?"

"I want to know," I hiss suddenly. "I want to know what happened to her."

"It can't change anything." The Professor tells me what I already know

I fix him with a confident stare. "I need to know."

* * *

**_I bet you all didn't see that comming... :) Happy Reading!!! _**


	4. Names and Games

Okay okay...I know it's been forever since I uploaded...but school seriously kicked my ass this semester and i had no time to write at all. But Here i come with the next chapter and the rest should be comming soon since I'm out of school for a while.

**_on a side note, GO SEE AVATAR! Ya'll will not be dissapointed!! It is amazing...so amazing I've even written a one shot for it!_**

**_Disclaimer: I own nothing at all_**

* * *

Chapter 4: Names and Games

"_**Their strength is secret. They send ferocious roots beneath the ground. They grow up and they grow down and grab the earth between their hairy toes and bite the sky with violent teeth and never quit their anger. This is how they keep."~ Sandra Cisneros "House on Mango Street"**_

"I say 'No Powers'!" Oro shouts as the horde of mutant children pours down the stairs past me.

"It's 'said'!" Two or three children correct her.

"It's what I said!" She retorts over her shoulder.

"Hey guys!" I shout on my way to lunch. "No running in the house, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times! Billy, seriously kid," I point to the Billy-sized hole in the wall near the top of the stairs and the matching one in the hardwood floor at the bottom. "You gotta practice some self control!" I point.

"And I told you," he stamps his foot. "My name is Berserker!"

"Fine," I roll my eyes without meaning to. "Fine, 'Berserker'; watch your step, okay?"

"Fine," he huffs and they continue to walk out, but as soon as they're out of sight, I can hear their footsteps speed up. "I swear…" I huff as I continue on my way into the studio.

I've noticed lately, that they've given themselves nicknames. Not all of them but a fair few have. Even the ones closer to my age; Scott for instance. I hear them call him "Cyclops" in the hall. The kid who can blast through walls, "Berserker" even little Ororo is called "Storm" by her friends. And it isn't just the names; it's the smiles that go along with the names. The rosy glow and the candid glances that travel from one kid to the next. There is a secret collective to their smiles.

"So, you've noticed it, too," Hank sighs when I tell him that day over lunch.

"Do kids do that?" I wonder as I poke at my salad. "Is it normal?"

Hank laughs. "Since when are they 'normal'?"

"You know what I mean…what does the Professor say?"

Hank shrugs as he watches them run around the courtyard. "Some of these kids want to escape their past so badly, they'll create new names, new selves. It's not completely uncommon with children with traumatic pasts."

"There's more than that," I reply.

"Unity?" Hank throws out. "They felt all alone before and now they've found others like themselves. They have a new family, as it were. A new team."

"Have you heard what they call you?" I wonder.

One of his eyebrows rise.

"Beast," I giggle.

"And you know what they call you?" He asks.

"Bring it."

"Ice Queen."

We laugh at their nicknames for us, but inside I know why they call me it and I can't blame them either.

* * *

Today I let my students out into the garden. We set up easels and canvases, capturing the magnolia bush, the apple trees, the wall covered in ivy and morning glories.

They all glare at Scott, he's the one who's been complaining about drawing fruit. Now they have the light to contend with, the elements. Like all true artists, they will suffer for their art.

I perch myself on a stool and take out the charcoal and a pad of paper. I draw them as they drew. For what reason or purpose, I could never guess, but while my hand is busy my mind races, as always, to Kayla.

The Professor insists that knowing exactly what happened to her won't make me feel better. And I know it won't. I know that. And I know it can't bring her back. She's gone forever. I know that all too well. But with each step I take, and the closer I get to who did it, will make her death more real. More permanent.

Her death is killing me too. It's altering me in a way I wish I could undo but I need to know that her death was real, who did it. Like when you break a bone; sometimes you have to re-set it before heals, otherwise it'll heal badly. I need to re-set my heart so it can heal the right way.

"You really are an artist…." There is a familiar voice behind me. I turn slowly, swallowing the instinct to protect myself, and there's David.

"Can you not do that?" I hiss in relief.

"Sorry, you were so…absorbed in your drawing." He smiles. "I figured that no matter what I did, I'd freak you out."

"Yeah, thanks." I glanced down at my smoky drawing. I'm getting rusty with the charcoal; it needs some serious work. "It's not that great."

"Are you serious?" David, without so much as a by-your-leave, grabs the pad from my hands to examine it closer. "I could never do anything like this."

I shrug and hop off the stool. "Hold on." I say to him and then patrol my students' work. When I finish with the critiques and dismiss them all to clean up, I return to David. "Sorry…teacher stuff."

"So, why don't you think this is amazing?" He shoves the pad under my nose. "Because it could draw like this, I wouldn't have the professors giving me the stink eye when I draw what I've seen under the microscope."

"You're a scientist?" I wonder.

"Almost." He puffs out his chest a little. "In a few weeks I've got to defend my thesis then find a job." He holds up a finger. "Then I'll be a scientist."

"What are you studying exactly?" I pick up a few forgotten sheets of paper.

"Human genetics mostly. Diseases and stuff." He shrugs. "Creating new medicines."

"What? Like genetic experimentation?"

"Some…that's where the science is headed."

"Do you experiment on people?" I bite back "Mutants" even though I so badly want to ask it.

David gives me a half-amused, half-confused grin. "Of course not. It's un-ethical. Why would-?"

I shrug this time. "I've heard of scientists who experimented on people…mutants…"

"It's un-ethical." He's very firm on this, there's something in the set of his jaw that I don't want to question.

"Then we're in agreement." I grin a little.

He plops down in the nearest bare flowerbed and begins planting. "Why art?"

I perch on the stool again. "I've always loved Art. Looking at it, studying it, making it. It just seemed like the logical choice."

"So, is this what you expected your life to be?" he wonders.

No, I want to go back. I want to replay it all, change it all. I would make all the right choices this time around. I want my sister back, I want my mother, and I want my family back. "Not exactly. But that's life, isn't it?"

He looks up with a gentle smile. "Yeah, I guess so."

And just like that, we're friends.

* * *

There's a small, almost tentative knock at the studio door. "Come in," I call as I finish checking all the paint can lids. I hear the door open and I turn around. Scott stands there.

"Hey Scott," I note his shifting from foot to foot. "What's up?"

"Emma," he sits down on a stool. "I don't know if you'll help but…"

"Help with what?" I wonder.

His eyes search mine for a moment.

"What is it, Scott? Tell me." I sit next to him.

"We…we've got a project that we need help with."

I laugh. "I don't know what kind of project I could help with. I'm just the art teacher."

"It's not for school." He says quietly.

I'm lead down into the long semi-un-finished basement, the twisting corridors with exposed pipes. "Scott, what the hell?" I whisper. "I thought the Professor didn't want anyone down here-."There's a sudden loud metallic groan and I hop to one side.

"Come on," he turns down another corridor, this one darker than the last few.

"Scott!" I call after him as I follow. "I think we should go back."

"We're here." He opens a door and there are Jean, Oro, Berserker, Eric and Midnight (a girl who was in the kennels with me) all in a small titanium covered room.

"What the hell is going on here?" I hiss.

"Ah, Emma…" Eric jumps off his chair and claps his hands together. "Well done, Scott. Emma, we've been waiting for you."

"I don't understand." I take a step back.

Eric catches the other childrens' eyes. They file out the door, leaving just me and Eric.

"Eric, what the hell is going on?" I snap when they're gone. "Does the Professor know about this?!"

"Emma," Eric places his hands gently on my shoulder. "I know how hurt you are. I know how it feels to lose everything you ever cared about."

I hang my head at our shared grief.

His voice drops a little. 'I know what it does to you, how it twists your soul until you think cannot possibly go on….how you can't think of anything else-"

His words draw the anger up and let it settle on my brain. In my head, I hear Kayla saying how much she loved me after our last argument: _"After Mom died, who fed you? Who made sure you went to school? Who slept next to you for three months afterward so you wouldn't have nightmares? Who, Emma? Who? This grandmother who had no interest in you before? Or your sister who loves you more than anything? Who?"_

At the same time I'm assaulted by images that the Professor put into my brain; Kayla alive and well, healthy and glowing. Her smile, her laugh. And at the same time, the crushing knowledge that she could never come back.

"Stop," I whisper. "Please." I don't want to hear anymore.

Eric lifts my chin with a finger. "You have a gift. A gift that can help you get what you want."

I narrow my eyes at him. "How do you know what I want?"

Eric smiles. "It's what I wanted too. You want to find who twisted your soul and make them pay."

"And you can help me do that?"

Eric holds a small folded piece of paper between his fingers. "I have the location of a lab that experiments on mutants. Perhaps they can tell us who experimented on you and killed your sister."

* * *

I can't feel the night air as Eric yanks down the metal ventilation system off the side of the lab. Side effects of my "gift" as my sister called it, curse more like it. When I allow the shield to come up, I am all but invincible, but I trade that away for being unable to actually feel anything at all.

"Oro," Eric orders as the alarms start singing into the night. "Some cover if you please."

As previously discussed, Oro rises up with the wind, casting a deep fog before us and then with an all mighty crack the lightning she conjures hits the building and the lights and alarms go dead.

"Midnight," the girl with the cat eyes steps up behind me. "Emma. Ladies first."

We take the first steps into the lab, into the silence.

"Keep your eyes open," Eric warns. "No mistakes."

Midnight and I walk thought the fog, our footsteps echoing. Far off I can hear the guards, doctors, and the screams of the patients.

"What do you see?" I whisper to Midnight.

"They're coming," she replies with a sneer in a voice.

"Ready?"

"Ready." Is the confident reply.

Flashlight beams clumsily trip through the dark and then the fog. "What the hell is his?"A gruff voice grunts. "What the hell is this?" "Where are the lights? The alarm?" "Hello?"

A bright light flashes in my face.

"Who's there-?" "Jesus, the wall's gone! What the-!"

A portly security guard dressed in blue steps out of the fog. His flashlight shakes a little as he calls out: "There're two…girls…" he's seen Midnight's cat eyes and my shimmering skin.

"You sure?" I whisper.

"Get down on your hands and knees." He orders, getting out his gun. It shines in the flashlight. "I mean it."

I nod. "I know. Go ahead. It won't help you."

He shakes his head.

"Do it," I hiss. I want him to. I want to see his reaction, his surprise and his fear. "Do it!"

Just as he puts his gun down, two other guards come bursting through the fog. Shots ring out. The bullets hit me but do nothing. Midnight moves into the shadows as I face the three guards.

"You shot her…." The first guard says to one of his fellows in shock,

"Nothing happened…" the second relies checking his gun.

"You can stop talking about me like I'm not here." I hiss.

"Miss-" the first guard begins.

There's another shot and now I'm sick of it. I walk the five paces toward this second guard, all the while he's shooting. I grab the gun from him and fling it away, after turning on the safety.

"What the hell?!" I hit him hard across the face. He falls with a thud.

Midnight knocks the other out and goes to do the same to the first guard, the one who wouldn't shoot me. But I hold up my hand silently and Midnight fades back into the fog, whistling to the others that the coast is clear.

"Get out of there," I whisper to the guard as I see the dark shapes of my friends moving past me. "Run and don't look back."

He nods and disappears into the fog.

We storm through the lab, destroying anything we can get our hands on, freeing thin and weak mutants from their cages. And then I see a flash of white and I smash through a window to trap the good doctor against the nearest wall.

"What do you know about the laboratory on Three Miles Island?" I growl.

He gurgles something and I let my forearm off his throat.

"I…" His eyes are wide in shock. "It's military…that's all I know. They sent me data."

"Who runs it?!"

"I don't know…" he gurgles more.

"Where's the information they sent you?!" I press with my whole body now. "Where?!"

He points to a sheaf of papers on the nearest desk.

"You will never do this again," I instruct. "If I hear that you are experimenting on mutants, I will come and find you…make no mistake about it."

He nods vigorously as I take a step back. Without another thought, I hit him hard in the jaw, knowing him out.

Scott looks down at my handy work, one eyebrow raised. "You're a hard one." He murmurs.

"Let's go back to the mansion," I reply, my voice as inflexible as my skin.


End file.
